


Acts of Kindness

by LaDemonessa



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 12:02:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1940328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaDemonessa/pseuds/LaDemonessa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garak tells Bashir a Cardassian fable</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acts of Kindness

Acts Of Kindness  
By JA Ingram

 

Behold now, thy servant hath found grace in thy sight, and thou hast magnified thy mercy, which thou hast shewed unto me in saving my life; and I cannot escape to the mountain, lest some evil take me, and I die:  
Genesis 19:19

Now therefore swear unto me here by God that thou wilt not deal falsely with me, nor with my son, nor with my son's son: but according to the kindness that I have done unto thee, thou shalt do unto me, and to the land wherein thou hast sojourned.  
Genesis 21:23

 

Julian sighed and put down the PADD; "I just don't get it."

"Get what?" Garak asked as he looked up from his own reading material.

"This! Any of it..." Julian shifted in his chair and glared at his companion, "Look, let's face it, you don't like Earth literature and I can't understand Cardassian subtlety. Maybe we should just give up on books and work on music instead?"

Garak took a sip of his tea and smiled, "I've heard some of your 'music', Doctor and I was not impressed."

"What else is new?" the human asked with a scowl. "I've tried--I really have but none of your 'enigma tales' make any sense. The ones that aren't mind numbingly boring are just plain confusing to me!"

"I don't see how these stories could be confusing," Garak replied, "They are merely folk tales and children's stories---even the youngest and most innocent mind can understand them."

"Well then, I'm either brain dead or daft," the doctor announced as he rose to his feet. "Either way you go, it's very late and I have an early meeting to attend."

"Doctor wait!" Garak got to his feet and stepped in front of the young human, blocking his exit, "When I invited you over here it was so that we could ask one another questions about the reading material as they arose. You must admit that the insights I share with you into my people's literature and culture are of a considerable strategic value to you just as has your insight been valuable to me. I would certainly be loathe to sacrifice all that we have worked for merely because you did not allow me to explain what is most probably a simple mistranslated phrase or unclear passage."

"You mean to tell me that Lord Byron is of a significant strategic value to Cardassia?" Julian asked slowly.

"Well, perhaps not to Cardassia, but it has given me insight into why your people choose to act the way you do." Garak shrugged, "I must admit, even though I loathe that Shakespeare fellow it did enable me to understand your race a little better."

"How?" Bashir asked curiously.

"I can't really say how, doctor, it just did." Garak motioned for Bashir to resume his seat.

"Well, this hasn't helped me in the least," Julian gestured at the abandoned PADD, "In fact, all it does is confuse me further!"

Garak pursed his lips in thought; "Hmm...perhaps it's my fault. I gave you the texts but neglected to show you how they should be read."

"Okay, you lost me," the human sat back in the chair and shrugged, "Reading is reading, right? How else can you do it?"

"It has to do with the way we Cardassians communicate our most basic thoughts and ideas." Garak took a sip of his drink then continued to speak, "Humans are very forward in their speech, almost to the point of vulgarity. Cardassians, on the other hand, are taught to utilize not just speech but body language and other less cumbersome methods of communication. The Enigma Tales, for instance, were originally spoken aloud and passed on from generation to generation in a lyrical form. The story exists not just in the words, but in the storyteller himself."

"Okay, so show me," Julian said handing him the PADD.

Garak tapped at the PADD thoughtfully before putting it back on the table slowly, "I have a better idea. Why don't I share a story with you---one that you'll be able to identify with but that contains some of the nuances that you've been unable to fully understand as of yet?"

"Okay, go for it," the doctor invited.

"Have you ever heard the fable of the Vedek and the soldier?" the tailor asked slowly.

"Cardassians have a story about a Vedek?" Julian asked.

"Yes and no..." Garak cleared his throat and dropped his voice slightly, "Actually, this fable is considered rather controversial. It was banned by the state more than thirty years ago because of the liberal overtones which seemed to support the civilian opposition."

Julian's interest was peaked, "If it was banned then how did you find out about it?"

"I worked as a librarian at the archive office when I was younger," Garak shrugged, "You'd be surprised what you can find hidden among the stacks when working the late shift."

"I'll just bet..." the doctor narrowed his eyes.

"Anyway, the story began like this..."

~*~

Twenty years after the occupation of Bajor, a squadron of Cardassian soldiers was making their way to the capital when they were ambushed by guerrilla resistance fighters near the foothills of the Tend'larth Mountains. Led by an inexperienced officer, who achieved his position through family connections rather than skill, the entire squad was crushed save for one soldier who escaped with just a few lacerations and some broken ribs. The resistance cell had also been desiccated but their demise was of little comfort to the lone soldier. Nightfall was settling in and it was midwinter. All the land vehicles were destroyed and so were the supplies. He decided to try and make his way toward the next base because if he stopped he knew he'd freeze to death before dawn.

Better to die walking than on your back in the mud, he reasoned.

Taking a few charred but salvageable blankets and some cheap jalnaar whiskey from a dead soldier's pack, he began his trek over the mountains. For hours he walked and climbed further up the ridge. The cold had numbed his injuries somewhat but it was becoming increasingly difficult to stay on his feet. He walked the whole of the night and into the day, stopping only long enough to take a swallow of the foul liquor and tightening the blankets over his shoulders. Into the second day of his travels, a rare snowstorm hit the area and he was caught in a white freezing hell. His whiskey was gone and the blankets could not keep out the cold so he sat down and decided to welcome death.

He closed his eyes and began to drift away when he caught the scent of burning wood. Opening his gritty eyes, he saw a line of smoke barely a mile off into the distance. Deciding that the long forgotten gods of his people had not totally forsaken him, he arose wearily and again began to walk through the rising snowdrifts.

As he neared the humble cabin, he saw a Bajoran man dressed warmly in the robes of a priest stacking firewood near the back door. The Cardassian opened his mouth to call out figuring that even if the Vedek killed him it would be better than freezing to death but his lips cracked dryly and no sound would emerge from his throat. Nonetheless, the small priest turned and saw him and as he approached the lone figure dressed in bloody, charred rags the soldier fell unconscious into the snow.

When he awoke, he was lying on a pallet near a blazing hearth and the Vedek was feeding him spoonfuls of broth. "Who are you?" he asked.

"I am Vedek Portha," he said, "I am a monk. I live here and serve the spiritual needs of the loggers and hunters who live in these woods though I confess my congregation is but a small one. Now it is my turn to ask your name, my son, and why would a Cardassian soldier be travelling alone in such inhospitable weather? Did you escape an internment camp?"

"No," the soldier rasped, "I was a foot soldier for the land infantry out of the capital city. We were doing field training about two days walk from here when resistance fighters attacked us. I'm the only survivor." The soldier suddenly closed his eyes and cursed himself silently for his foolishness, "And now that you know I am alone I suppose you will kill me."

"If I had wanted you dead, my son, I could have just left you in the snow," the Vedek chuckled warmly.

"But you are Bajoran and I am Cardassian," the young man replied in confusion, "I don't understand."

"Perhaps someday you shall," the Vedek replied as he arose from the pallet to get another blanket for his charge, "I follow the teachings of the Prophets who tell us to show kindness to the unmerciful and to give shelter to even those who would not shelter us. It may be a foolish thing to do but it is the way I choose to live."

"But to give shelter to someone who wears this uniform?" the soldier asked. "Can your gods want you to commit suicide then?"

"You act as though you want to die," Portha mused.

The soldier appeared somewhat chagrined, "Forgive me. It was rude of me to question your hospitality."

"You are a very polite young man," the Vedek observed, "and that fills me with hope. Sleep now and in the morning we will figure out what to do with you."

Morning came and the Vedek bathed him and cleaned his wounds again. From time to time, a knock would sound at the door and the little man would pull the drapes and talk in low tones to a passing woodsman or logger, never letting on that he sheltered a Cardassian soldier. Throughout the following days and nights, the soldier slept and ate and occasionally the two men would talk of literature or philosophy. The young man eventually revealed that he had only joined the military because his family had fallen on hard times and they could use the extra rations allotted to the families of enlisted men.

"Yes, I thought as much," the Vedek replied sagely, "You did not seem to be particularly suited to the life of a soldier. My people often forget that the Cardassians are also prisoners. You also must struggle against poverty and oppression, it is unfortunate though that you choose to oppress others in order to save yourselves."

"Cardassia doesn't want to destroy Bajor!" the young man objected, "We want to be at peace with you--to share the natural resources of this planet. Our leaders tell us that..."

"You seem to know what the leaders tell you, young man, but what have you observed for yourself?" the Vedek asked. "Do your people truly share the wealth of the planet or do they enslave the masses and allow children to starve while Guls and Legates grow fat and lazy?"

"I am only a soldier," the younger man said as he stared down at the blankets, "It is not my place to judge the leaders of the state."

"You are no mere 'soldier'," the Vedek chuckled then began to cough. He arose from his chair and poured himself a small glass of water before continuing, "I'm not sure what you are, but I think that someday I will be glad I saved you from the snow."

"Or maybe not," the young man replied sadly.

"Perhaps...only the Prophets know what the future holds."

Their conversation ended with a knock at the door. The Vedek closed the drape between the rooms and answered it. The young man listened to the voices of the logger and the monk as they discussed their business and gradually drifted asleep.

Two weeks passed and the young soldier was again fit enough to leave the cabin. Gathering together a small bundle of supplies and blankets, he wished the ancient Vedek well. "If ever I come back old man, I will bring you some supplies or some money. I haven't much, but I promise you I will repay my debt."

"There is no debt," the Vedek replied and clapped him on the shoulder warmly, "Merely remember that which you have learned and pass on the kindness you have found whenever and where ever you can."

"I understand."

"HALT!"

The soldier and the Vedek turned to see a small group of Cardassian soldiers coming up to them, their rifles at the ready.

Grabbing a knife from his side, the young soldier turned to the Vedek and quickly stabbed him through the heart. Unable to react, the monk fell down to the ground, dead.

"I am a foot soldier with the 21st Infantry," he said as he dropped the knife and held his hands aloft, "My squad was attacked and killed less than two days walk from here."

"We know," the young Glin replied as he lowered his rifle, "We tracked you up here. Who was the old man?"

"A Bajoran Vedek," the soldier replied coldly, "This was his cabin."

"You took shelter here?" the Glin asked.

"I did," the soldier affirmed.

"And yet you killed the man who saved you from freezing to death," the Cardassian observed coolly.

"He is a Bajoran," the soldier replied.

"You are a good man," the Glin chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. "A true cold warrior, eh?"

"I am a soldier," the man replied, "I serve the interests of the state."

"Very well then, let's get you back to base," the Glin said turning to leave.

"First, sir, may we burn the cabin down?"

The Glin raised one eyeridge in surprise, "Why? The old man is dead, what use is there in burning down the cabin?"

"To show the Bajoran rebels that we are in control, sir."

"Very well then, burn it down!" The Glin ordered and waited for the young soldier to join him, "I need a good second," he chuckled, "care to volunteer? I could use a man of such hard reasoning on the battlefield."

"Yes, sir!" the soldier grinned, "Thank you."

"No, thank you, soldier. I will recommend that you receive a medal for this when we return to base. You are a true son of Cardassia and a shining example of military discipline," the older Cardassian replied just as the house went up in flames, burning well into the evening long after they had gone.

~*~

"That was the most horrible story I've ever heard," Julian replied distastefully. "You let children read that rubbish?"

"Like I said, that was banned literature," Garak shrugged, "Nonetheless it was a rather clever use of the enigma variations. I personally could have done without the Bajoran propaganda, but..."

"What are you talking about? He killed the Vedek who saved him!" the doctor sat back in the chair, "All I got from that story was that the soldier should have been left for dead to begin with!"

"Doctor, are you telling me that you missed the entire point of the story?" Garak tutted, "What a shame, I was under the impression that you were more intelligent than that."

"What are you talking about?" Bashir asked, "It seemed fairly straightforward to me: the Vedek saved the soldier and the soldier betrayed him, right?"

"Wrong," the tailor sighed, "Cardassian tales have many levels to them, even in the most simplistic story forms. It isn't what you see but what you don't see that counts. It's the subtext within an enigma tale that makes it such a prized literary discipline."

"What subtext?" the doctor asked. "I didn't see any subtext in it!"

"Go back through it and tell me what you observed about the story," Garak instructed.

"Some soldier nearly froze to death and was saved by a monk who he later murdered in cold blood."

"That's the 'human' answer, now try looking at it like a Cardassian," Garak said.

"And it was good for the state." Bashir said folding his arms defiantly.

"If you're going to be obtuse you might as well just go home," Garak said annoyed.

"Fine, then you tell me what it is I'm supposed to be looking for," Julian snorted derisively.

"Who was the old man?" Garak asked.

"A Vedek."

"What else?" Garak prodded.

"A nice Vedek?" Julian shrugged.

"Look deeper," Garak instructed, "Did you notice anything odd about the old Vedek? Did anything stand out about him?"

"He was very kind," Julian answered, "He protected the soldier by hiding him for weeks and then the ungrateful bastard stabbed him."

"Why did he hide him though?" Garak asked, "Why would a Bajoran Vedek hide a Cardassian soldier?"

"I don't understand the point of the question," Julian shrugged.

"Who was he hiding him from?"

Julian paused, "The hunters and the woodsmen?"

"Now think, why would a soldier have to be afraid of a handful of backwoodsmen?" Garak hinted, "Unless of course they weren't really what the Vedek said they were."

"You're telling me that the Vedek was in the resistance and that those men were as well." Julian said dryly.

"Exactly!" Garak announced.

"That is the most ridiculous thing you've said yet!" the doctor expounded, "Nothing in the story you told ever even hinted that the Vedek was in the resistance!"

"Which is why it is an enigma tale and not a clumsily told 'human' piece of, dare I say it, literature."

"If the Vedek was in the resistance than why didn't he just kill him? In addition, if the soldier knew it then why didn't he take him in for questioning? Also, why burn down the house? I don't get it." Julian asked.

"Because, that is the whole point of the story," the tailor sighed. "The soldier knew the old man was in the resistance so when the other soldiers found them, he killed the old man out of kindness. He knew that they would bring him in for questioning and eventually torture him to death in order to get the information they wanted. By killing him, he saved him from a fate worse than death."

"Oh."

"A little heavy handed on the sentiment, but I thought you would appreciate it," Garak sighed.

"So why burn down the cabin?" Bashir asked.

"Why would you burn down the cabin if you were the soldier?" Garak snorted.

"To destroy evidence...?" Julian supplied.

"And?" Garak encouraged him to continue.

"And...to signal the others that something was wrong?" Julian frowned.

"Correct." Garak arose from his seat, not so subtly hinting that the evening's discussion had ended.

Julian got up reluctantly and headed for the door, "I still think it would have been easier to just say what happened outright."

"Nothing good in life is ever easy, doctor," the Cardassian said opening the door to his quarters.

Julian paused on the threshold for a moment, "Garak?"

"Yes?"

"Who was the soldier? I mean, who wrote the story?" Julian asked curiously.

"Now you're beginning to catch on," Garak smiled, "It was from an autobiography of one of the leaders of the dissident movement."

"Who?"

"Tekeny Ghemor--under a pseudonym of course."

"Oh," the doctor nodded, "I should have guessed that."

"Yes you should have," Garak agreed. "You seem almost disappointed..."

"Well, truth be told, I thought it might have been you," Julian shrugged.

"Me?" Garak chuckled, "I'm afraid that the life of a soldier never appealed to me."

"Garak?"

"It is growing quite late, doctor," the tailor sighed.

"How can you be sure Ghemor wrote it if he didn't use his own name?"

"Well, it's obvious! If you look at the subtle use of..."

"Never mind! I get the point." The doctor shrugged, "Maybe someday I'll learn to appreciate Cardassian literature, but I doubt it. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, and thank you for this lovely volume of...Shakespeare."

Julian winked, "Just remember to keep your eye open for subtle innuendo. See you at lunch."

"I'll do my best," Garak drawled as he allowed the door to slide shut and walked back toward the sitting area. Suddenly he frowned, "I wonder what he meant by that?"

 

The End


End file.
